


Will You Allow Me?

by insanetics



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-31
Updated: 2013-08-31
Packaged: 2017-12-25 06:02:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/949492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insanetics/pseuds/insanetics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Metatron had never come in and interfered with Castiel's shopping attempt, things might've gone in a different direction. A want may have even been fulfilled. One-shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Will You Allow Me?

* * *

When he heard something loud slam into the wall, he practically choked on the last sip of the halved beer Sam never got around to drinking. “What the  _hell_?”

"Hello, Dean." Cas stood there, barely affected by the misinterpretation of space.

"What are you doin’ here, Cas?" Dean forced out, eyes drifting from the ridiculously huge cardboard box held effortlessly over Cas’ head to the plastic bag dangling from one of his hands.  "We thought you flew the coop again."

"No reason," Cas lied, leaning over to awkwardly peer into the hallway.

"Is there a larger room in these headquarters?"

"Larger than this one?" Dean questioned with a perk of his eyebrows.  They were standing in the main room with the big tables and the books; he was completely lost on what was happening.  "You can set that down in here if you need to."

Cas’ eyes observed the room before he let out a quiet sigh and finally maneuvered the box to rest itself against a line of bookshelves.  ”Where’s Sam?”

"Resting," Dean replied with a shortness, turning his attention to an old tape recording.  "Sam and I were gonna go get somethin’ done."

"Will you allow me to help you?" Cas was staring at Dean, the genuine apology from earlier quite easy to read in his face.

Dean stared back at him, ruminating on a mind-change, a wariness hidden in a clenched jaw. “Nah, I don’t think so. Not this time, Cas.”

Cas’ gaze dropped, but not for very long as he remembered the plastic bag he had hanging from his fingers.  With some hesitation the angel stepped forward, reminding Dean of the time Cas had “lost his marbles” and was offering them consoled-pig sandwiches.

"What’s that?" Dean asked.

"For you," Cas said, letting Dean take the bag from where he was sitting. "You mentioned it earlier.  I’m not accustomed to busying myself by merely staying here."

Dean set the bag down in front of him and pulled down its sides to the random assortment of things Cas had apparently been shopping for this entire time.  Huh. A six-pack of his favorite beer - a porno magazine, _that was great_  - some jerky, eggs, and whadd’ya know - toilet paper.  Dean could feel the warmth in his face and tried not to make it too obvious.  

"This is… really friggin’ weird, man," he finally said, meeting Cas’ eyes only to find they’d been watching him the whole time.

Cas tipped his head in minute worry. “But you  _do_  like all of those things?”

"Well, other than the… toilet paper, sure, but I mean - is most of this just for me?"

"Yes, Dean. I am trying to mend things." Cas then turned to the box, leaving Dean sitting there to wonder how he should be reacting. For once he was grateful Sammy was off in his room, because he wouldn’t be able to take the awkwardness of getting a porno mag and tissue paper handed to him from Cas.

Dean watched as the angel inspected the box like it was the world’s most peculiar contraption.  

Cas leant down, peering closely at some lettering at the bottom.  That seemed to do it, because he was soon flipping the wide, flat box over.  When he got frustrated with the tape, he tried to discreetly use some of his mojo to cut the box’s edge open.  Why it looked like Cas was trying to go about the whole thing in a human way - Dean didn’t have a goddamn clue.

"Dude, the suspense is killing me," Dean snarked from his sitting spot, remembering what Sam had said and trying to relieve some tension. He took a swig of beer, not able to resist grabbing a fresh bottle out of the six-pack.  He may as well use what the guy got for him - what else was he going to do with it?  

"I’m sorry, Dean. I didn’t think to ask the men at the shop how to construct this. I was hoping for some assistance from Sam," Cas murmured, trying to find a suitable spot to slide out the box’s insides.

"Why can’t I…uh, assist you?" Dean remarked, feeling oddly left out somehow.

Cas stole a look at Dean before he returned his attention to the box. Finally, he tipped the box so it all of its contents went skating across the floor.

Wait- _wait_.  Was that a-  ”You got a  _ping-pong table_?” Dean tried not to launch himself out of his chair.  He set the beer down with the most casual of restraint he could manage. 

"Yes." Cas crouched down beside the pieces - tabletop, legs, net, paddles, balls.  He knew it was a game, but how did it work?

"Now you’re just being too nice." But Dean had gotten up and was standing beside the setup with barely concealed interest.

"It’s what you enjoy, isn’t it, Dean?" Cas queried, serious gaze meeting Dean’s. The hunter swallowed, unsure of what to say to a question like that.

"You want some help?" he asked instead.

"This depends," Cas countered as he returned to his height, a leg of the table clutched in one hand.  "If you allow me to help you. I want you to trust me."

"Cas… that’s asking for a lot after what you did," Dean felt guarded, wary again. He wanted to trust Cas. Hell, did he, but the guy running off with that angel tablet..  _losing_  it. Not trusting  _him_  enough to manage all of this… together. And having that tacked onto past issues, well-

"I’m truly sorry, Dean. I believed I was looking after you and Sam by keeping you out of danger’s way." As if there wasn’t already a crapton enough guilt in the angel’s eyes.

After a few seconds of silence, all but staring into the abyss of emotion shining in Cas’ eyes, Dean ground out, “Alright, but only because of the ping-pong table.” Dean swept his arm down to snag another leg.  ”You have no idea. These things are  _awesome_.”

 

* * *

 

Leaving his room, Sam could hear an odd, light sound of- well he wasn’t really sure, but it sounded mysteriously like bouncing plastic.  

When he got closer to the doorway that led into command central, he could hear their voices.

"You’re supposed to  _hit_  the ball, Cas.  There’s a reason it’s called ping-pong and not ping-and-hit-the-other-friggin’ side of the room.”

"Is there a reason we use these paddles rather than simply using our hands?"

"That’s too easy.  No-  _Cas_ \- you hold it like this.”

Sam quietly snuck his head around the frame and saw Dean walking around the ping-pong table to take the paddle’s rounded surface out of Cas’ hand. 

“ _This_  way,” Dean demonstrated with impatience, “Because you see the handle, like what practically everything has, including an angel blade?   _You grip it_.”

Cas watched in squinty confusion as Dean pressed the handled end into Cas’ still-raised hand, taking the time to close the angel’s fingers around the right end himself, like he didn’t trust him to get it right long enough to play a game.  

"I swear, man, I don’t know how you kill things." He set one of the balls on the table.

Dean walked back around to his side. “You serve it.”

Cas looked lost, but he picked up the ball in his free hand. After observing Dean for a moment, appearing to be playing back all the times Dean might’ve already served it, Cas finally managed to hit it over to Dean.

Dean returned it in a beat, clearly taking care to not hit it so hard.

And what do you know- Cas got it. 

"Thank you!" Dean exclaimed in exasperation "Didn’t think we’d ever get around to playing this damn thing." 

But among the annoyance, Sam noticed a faint smile tugging at the corner of his brother’s face.  After a few more pings and a slip that had Dean running like a kid after the ball, Sam noticed one on Cas’ face as well. 

Sam smirked, slipping back into the hall.  Hell, he could sleep for twenty more minutes.

 

* * *

 


End file.
